Death of an Author's Soul: Another Mary Sue
by paperbutterflies
Summary: I think we all know the story by now. American exchange student causes sap epidemic at Hogwarts. This one is slightly different, though: It's taken and run with. AND I can spell!
1. A Fabulous Description or Twelve

This being my first ever (written) fanfic, perhaps an explaination of why I wrote one anyway? Mary Sue. I blame her. I had to have one, and here she is. Catamalina James Amanya Min de Smithford, for your viewing pleasure. I had to run her through three litmus tests just to make sure I got her name right. Anyway, there's nothing else important to say about this sucker that can't be covered in later annoying A/N bits, but here you go, yet another Mary Sue fanfic. My work here is done. -----------------  
  
It was another typical year beginning for the diligent and studious and occasionally fandomly oversexed students of Hogwarts. Harry and co. were all seated at the table where so much news had been shared, so many stories swapped, so many pants wet, so much food eaten. This table was, of course, Gryffindor table in the Great Hall [dramatic recapping description coming soon], where Harry & co sat anxiously awaiting the ceremonial Sorting ceremony in which newcomers to Hogwarts, a shiny-faced batch of First years were Sorted ceremoniously in a ceremony that was very ceremonious. Ceremony ceremony ceremony.  
  
Anyway, there they sat, on those seats, so familiar now that they almost conformed to the creases in the students' pants. In Neville Longbottom's case, they did. Neville's small brown eyes pleaded up at the tattered Sorting Hat to hurry up and finish, so that the feast would start. Harry was feeling good about the coming year. Sure, Voldemort was back and on the move, but he felt safe at Hogwarts. How could anything go wrong under the watchful, unblinking, almost creepily caring gaze of Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster? But Dumbledore wasn't watching Harry's table, as often seemed to happen when he needed it. Instead the professor was following the slow gait of Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor house, as she made her way up to the temporary stage set for the Sorting.  
  
"Ahem," she said, clearing her throat in preparation for what was certainly going to be an important announcement.  
  
"It is my honor to present to you all our latest program. It is an overseas exchange program with the United States of America. Our guest will be a sixth year here at Hogwarts, with normal Sorting procedures to determine her house. Miss Catamalina James Amanya Min de Smithford, if you please?"  
  
Harry looked up at the girl walking across the stage. No . . . more than a girl. And she didn't so much walk as float, on angel wing-accented-ed feet, across the crude planks to the almost inadequately ancient Hat. It was love at first sight.  
  
She was beautiful. Her perfect, pale oval face ended at a soft point at her chin, making her appear feminine and capable. Above that dwelled perfect lips, like unto a Valentine's heart and neatly curved upward into a beguiling smile that showed no nervousness. Her clear violet eyes, the color of deep sea frozen, sparkled and danced with excitement as her lips parted into a dazzling yet demure grin, revealing a mouth full of flawless teeth like deep sea pearls. Her ivory complexion was set off and complemented by soft waves of silvery-blonde hair that flowed in a river of shining glory just past her shoulders, held neatly just out of her shining eyes by small, unobtrusive violet ribbons woven through her angelic strands.  
  
She floated along, her feet barely touching the harshly hewn (or so it seemed to Harry in comparison with such genetic perfection) boards as her slender, willowy form slipped across the stage, skimmed with thin robes of an interesting shade of black - the absence of all color and light, yet at the same time the very /i of all colors reflecting the candlelight like the night sky. The intricately embroidered skirt fanned empiriously around the stubby legs of the Sorting Hat's stool as Catamalina delicately seated herself and artfully balanced the Hat on her ethereal head.  
  
It pondered quietly for a long while; to Harry it seemed like both an eternity and an instant. At long last the violent tear in the Hat's brim opened wide, and it dramatically declared to all present:  
  
/b  
  
-------------- And there it is. Nothing more to say except the prerequisite "No-sadly-I- don't-own-the-characters-otherwise-I'd-be-a-rich-woman-in-England" disclaimer. I swear I'll get the next few chapters up by tomorrow. 


	2. Revelations of a Girl

Don't hate me, you know I love you. I do enough self-hating over this thing anyway. Still, it feels better to write it, so I guess it's a sort of "I love doing it I hate having done it" thing I've got going here. Like a serial killer. . . . Er, just guessing on that last bit. Have fun. ---------------------  
  
The Gryffindor table erupted into the usual delighted cheers, but somehow they seemed a little more enthusiastic, particularly from the more male- oriented sections. Hermione noticed Ron staring openly at the beautiful new girl and snorted, but smiled anyway and cheered as loud as any others. And then the feast started, and everyone watched the new girl, and everyone tried to get her to sit by them, but she sat quietly in solitude at the end of the row etc. etc.  
  
Moving on.  
  
It was several days later, after everyone had settled in and was beginning to settle in to their classes and schedules. Catamalina spent most of her time alone and secluded, studying madly or reading to herself or just staring into the fire or out the window at the slowly turning leaves, despite what seemed like the entire school's unrelenting attempt to be her best friend. She occasionally spoke in her clear, melodic voice, resonant of deep forests and summer evenings and other, equally painful things, to ask questions or comment on things, but for the most part she remained elegant and unearthly and cold.  
  
Until one day. It was a cool day, the sort that falls evenly between summer and autumn but leans on autumn. The sky was a pearly, even gray that diffused the light perfectly across the sloping grounds thinly scattered with mildly colored early-changing leaves. Harry, Ron and Hermione were in the library near a window looking up the necessary information for an unreasonably long report on the effects of transfiguration between species on later behavior patterns. Catamalina was nearby, working on the same project. The late afternoon light, which was slowly turning from gray to gold, glistened offher hair and lit her eyes, which had mysteriously turned deep, ponderous forest green. Her silvery hair was loose that day and looked liquid, moving like a river whenever she tilted her head or raised it from the pages to turn to another section of the tome.  
  
Suddenly she gasped aloud and shuddered, leaning further into the book. She looked so genuinely horrified and afraid that Hermione was moved to ask what was the matter.  
  
"Oh . . . this picture. Here. That's my mother." said Catamalina in a shaky but still the more delicate voice.  
  
"But . . . this book is hundreds of years old. Almost all the books here in the library are. And - Oh my god, what's going on in that picture?"  
  
"She's turning into a silver wolf . . . my gods, this may be how I got my shapeshifting powers! And also it explains why I never really knew her . . . I was told she ran off to get away from my father." explained Catamalina, in an even yet unstable voice, her hands tracing across the page like tracing spiderwebs. Her delicate, tapering ivory fingers shook and gripped the edge of the table, her greenest of green eyes open wide in shock.  
  
"Who's your father, then?" inquired Ron, leaning across the table to see the picture better.  
  
"I . . . I don't know . . . " came the whispered reply from pale lips. "But he's . . . he's . . ." The tone faded away, and Catamalina drew a thin, quivering breath.  
  
Harry saw her in a new light. Certainly she was beautiful and elegant and unattainable, but he contented to watch her only move before. Now he knew something of her past, and knew why she was so silent and solitary. He respected her more than he ever had and resolved inwardly to find out what he could and help her. He looked back up, and instead of seeing an icy statue of silver and ivory set with gems, he saw a girl. A girl with a past, present, and future. A girl in fear of whatever she needed to fear. He would bring her back up, however he could.  
  
-------------------  
  
Thus ends Part Deux. Seems like a reasonable stopping point, I suppose. It occurs to me I might need more of those annoying a/n things, like my fabulous reviewer said. I'll fit 'em into the next chapter, I will. Part Three commences at sundown in the Field of Honor. Be there. 


	3. You Know You Want It

It lives! There is nothing left to say! ------------  
  
Anyway. Harry had a wee bit of a Moment, after which several weeks that the author didn't particularly want to write about passed (but rest assured, they were chock full of eye-bleedingly long coddling descriptions, embarrassingly dragged-out thought processes, and wretched recaps of things that never happened) Catamalina became good friends with Hermione very quickly: Once Hermione realized she has met her intellectual match she was rather jealous and competitive, but Catamalina's charm won her over, as it had so many before her. Harry's close little group of three became a group of four, still inseparable and not at all awkward. It was even an improvement, really, thought Harry one cold clear day in January as they sat near a window in the common room. As before they had been able to tell each other about anything with little fear of not un being un not taken un- seriously . . . er . . . In any case, Catamalina, or Cat as she was now called, was not only understanding of the small group's problems but helpful - she always knew just what to say and what to do about everything. And the way she spoke . . . ! Like bells, or sirens, enticing you to heed her word. He might have been suspicious, had her word ever led him astray . . .  
  
Still, there was one occasion that confused Harry somewhat. He had asked her about what to do about Cho, who for the purposes of this story was apparently still lusting or the underage equivalent thereof after Harry. He even wondered if her still liked her, but - *at this point the author has lost interest in her own work. Please imagine the sappiest, lamest dialogue about teen romance angst and identity crises that you can possibly handle. Do not blame me. *  
  
Cat had hesitated, and watched him with a completely different expression than she ever had. Her incredible, amazing eyes flashed gold over deep, blue-green like the sea. Was it sadness he saw? Hope? . . . Fear? She told him that he should let her go, let her learn to let go of him, to move on. Maybe talk to her about that. He'd done so, of course, and after Cho had more or less finished crying, she'd smiled. Later she was seen with a Hufflepuff 7th year, looking happy and at peace. Cat had been very happy to hear this. Almost in an odd way, though Harry chose not to read into it.  
  
He did know, though, that Hermione must have thought he fancied her, and maybe the other way round, as well. He could tell from her dramatic glances and near infuriatingly knowing looks that she was sure of it. But was he? Maybe he did fancy Cat . . .  
  
Back in the temporal present, he heard a voice. A nice voice, yes, familiar and earthy, but with impatient overtones.  
  
"Well?" Hermione was saying.  
  
In an attempt to save face, Harry reacted automatically, responding in a nonspecific answer.  
  
"I disagree," he said passively.  
  
"You disagree?" Hermione exclaimed incredulously. "Harry, are you serious? You've been on - "  
  
Catamalina broke her off. "He just wasn't paying attention," she said understandingly. "What were you thinking about, Harry?"  
  
He didn't think, just responded, "Well, you."  
  
Cat blushed slightly, a rose glow dusting across her cheeks, adding color to her beautiful ivory face, but her crystalline blue eyes sparkled. Hermione looked amused.  
  
The girls next to each other looked odd, like one or the other was out of place: Catamalina's angelic, ethereal appearance compared with Hermione's average, earth toned normalcy. Looking at her like this, he noticed that Hermione was considerably more attractive than her gave her credit for, but he just didn't think of her that way.  
  
He suddenly realized he was expected to say something.  
  
"Nothing like that," he said, taking a stab in the dark. It turned out to be more or less on target, and they returned to discussing Draco Malfoy's latest escapades as related to Voldemort's latest activities.  
  
Somehow, despite the subject matter, Harry felt safe in his friends' company.  
  
---------------  
  
There will be no H/Hr shippiness, I tell you this now. None. And again, that's all there is to say besides uberthanks to the fabulous Beth for reviewing, and to you who went and read it. 3! 


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